Do you need a spiritual awakening? (I do.) I have an idea …

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been spiritually asleep for too long now. A friend recommended a book recently called In the End–The Beginning by the German theologian Jurgen Moltmann and one particular chapter re-energized me and gave me some ideas for Lent. He says:

“In prayer we wake up to the world as it is spread out before God in all its heights and depths … the person who prays, lives more attentively. Pray wakefully.” (p. 83)

And I asked myself: What if I started praying again–actually praying? For a set amount of time… And how would it transform my life to pray “wakefully”?

He continues:

“When we wake up in the morning we expect the new day; and in the same way, the waking which springs from prayer to God also leads to the expectation of God in the life we experience. I wake up, and open all my senses for life–for the fulfillments and for the disappointments, for what is painful as well as for what gives joy. I expect the presence of God in everything I meet and everything I do … People who know that there is someone who is waiting for them and expecting them never give themselves up. And we are expected.” (p. 85)

Do I wake up expecting the presence of God in everything I do? Expecting God? And finally, this quote:

“To go through life with open eyes, to discern Christ in unimportant people, and, alert, to do the right thing at the right time: that is what praying and watching is about. We believe so that we can see–and withstand what we see.” (p. 86)

I’ve found this to be true. It reminds me of the Chinese friend I talk about in my book who encouraged me to pray for the pang bien de ren–the “right next to you people,” then watch for how God answers your prayer.

Would you consider joining me in praying for a set amount of time every day during Lent?

I tried this once before when I was single and living in China and it transformed me. That year, I read a psalm aloud and then spent an hour praying aloud every morning during Lent. Now that I am married with three small children, I’m thinking thirty minutes might be all that I can carve out, but I’m desperate for a spiritual reawakening.

We’ll begin this Wednesday with Ash Wednesday and end on Easter Sunday, but I hope this sparks a new habit of being spiritually awake to the work of God all around me.

If you’re interested, drop a comment here, email via my contact form, or send me a dm via social media to tell me you’re in and I’ll email the small group of us a couple times over the next few weeks just to see how things are going. Let me know your goal in the form of time. Personally, I’ll attempt to pray every morning from 5:15-5:45 am (which will mean going to bed super early…), but you can pick the time frame that works for you and your season of life.

If you can’t commit to this, but would like another challenge, you could also consider doing a digital detox/fast during Lent. You can read my post here for ideas on how to do that. Highly recommend.

Feel free to share this with a friend and invite them to join you.

Blessings to you as you seek to live purposefully and wakefully right where you are.

xo
Leslie

I don't know about you, but I've been spiritually asleep for too long now. Would you consider joining me in praying for a set amount of time every day during Lent? #Lent #Lent2020 #prayandwatch #prayer #Lentidea #Lentgoal #mindfulness

July 2, 2018July 2, 2018

How We Wait: A Poet’s Spiritual Practice {guest post} + BOOK GIVEAWAY

By Abigail Carroll | Website

This year, my church celebrated Lent in an unconventional way: we created art together. Specifically, we snapped black-and-white photographs designed to capture the theme of waiting.

Everyone was invited to submit their best six photos, and a skilled artist in the congregation assembled them into what we called a photography quilt, which we displayed during the Palm Sunday service.

As a member of the Arts Team, I had helped come up with the idea, but I harbored concerns that we would find a sufficient variety of examples when it came to visually depicting waiting—would we all end up photographing the same six things? I also wondered about the spiritual value of the project: would it merely offer a feel-good community experience, or would the church grow spiritually? Would I grow spiritually?

To my astonishment, I hardly had to search for waiting: it found me.

Shortly after we launched this arts initiative, I found myself in that iconic space of involuntary tarrying: a hospital waiting room. A woman at my church with no family in the area had asked me to pick her up following minor surgery. I arrived at the hour she was scheduled for release, but the surgery had been delayed, took longer than expected, and required more recovery time than usual.

Because I had anticipated a simple pick-up, I had neglected to pack reading material or my laptop, so I spent what amounted to about eight hours flipping through magazines, wandering hospital lobbies, and listening to the conversations of others who were also waiting. I found myself moved to pray for many.

As I snapped a photo of the sign, Bernice and Milton Stern Surgical Waiting Area, I realized that what I was waiting for was more than my friend to emerge from the surgical ward in a wheelchair escorted by a nurse: I was waiting—with a deep sense of yearning—for the time when surgery will be obsolete, when, as John the Revelator puts it, “there will be no more death or mourning and crying or pain” (Revelations 21:4). I was waiting for the old order of things to pass away and the new order of things to be ushered in.

The second photograph I snapped was not in a hospital, but in my home.

My spirit had been feeling lifeless for some time, and I had been struggling to experience refreshment in prayer. One day when I was simply out of words to pray, I decided to take ten minutes with God in quiet with no attempt to use (or even think) words.

I installed myself in the rocker at my bedroom window overlooking a neighboring farm, and I gazed out over the white, snowy pastures. Something happened during those ten minutes that I can’t quite name. When I rose from my chair, I sensed that God’s presence had been with me, and my soul felt as though it had taken a deep, long breath. Once again, the theme of waiting had found me, so I photographed the chair next to the window, bathed in winter light.

A third image of waiting presented itself while I was on a walk, but not just any walk.

I had learned that dear friends whom I considered practically family would be moving away. I was devastated. All morning, the sky had been spitting snow, and my heart was feeling as bleak as the damp day, which, though it was April in Vermont, yielded no sign of spring. That is, until I stumbled on a pile of brush on the side of the road sporting small velvety buds. It was pussy willow branches that had been clipped, but were blossoming just the same. I gathered some of the clippings and snapped a photo, and as I did, I realized the picture was less about the willow clippings, than of my clipped soul, which felt utterly dormant and cut off, but which I knew would bud again, even if I couldn’t yet see the life.

We are all waiting for something—a call, news about a job, a broken bone to heal, vacation, the coffee to percolate, spring. Waiting is inherent to the human condition. What I realized, as I participated in our Lenten arts project, however, is that just as the poetry of everyday life resonates with eternal truths, every instance of our day-to-day waiting bears the imprint of a larger waiting.

Just as the poetry of everyday life resonates with eternal truths, every instance of our day-to-day waiting bears the imprint of a larger waiting. @ACarrollPoet

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In his letter to the Romans, Paul says, “[We] groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies” (Romans 8:23). This is the ultimate waiting to which all our other waiting points.

On Palm Sunday, when the photography quilt hung before the congregation, we beheld a portrait of our individual waiting, but also of our collective hope—a hope in the gospel’s promise that one day all which is broken will be restored.

I like to think that the act of snapping each photograph helped pique our hunger for a world gloriously renewed. At the very least, it piqued mine. I have come to recognize the experience of longing in my daily life as an opportunity to remember the One for whom I long, who has pledged to renew all things. As for pussy willows and waiting rooms, I don’t think I’ll ever look at them in quite the same way again.

***

BOOK GIVEAWAY!

We are giving away two of Abigail’s books of poetry: Habitation of Wonder (Wipf & Stock 2018) and A Gathering of Larks: Letters to Saint Francis from a Modern-Day Pilgrim (Eerdmans 2017).

TWO WAYS TO ENTER

1. Sign up for my newsletter below AND/OR

2. Tag up to four friends on either my Instagram or Facebook posts about this blog post and I’ll enter YOU (not your friend) once per friend you tag! Contest ends Wednesday, July 4th, at midnight (MT)*Only U.S. residents, please! And no bots;-)

About Abigail:

Abigail Carroll is author of two books of poetry, Habitation of Wonder (Wipf & Stock 2018) and A Gathering of Larks: Letters to Saint Francis from a Modern-Day Pilgrim (Eerdmans 2017). Her first book, Three Squares: The Invention of the American Meal (Basic Books 2013), was a finalist for the Zocalo Book Award. She serves as pastor of arts and spiritual formation at Church at the Well in Burlington, Vermont. You can find her online at www.abigail-carroll.com and follow her on Twitter at @ACarrollPoet.

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**All images except the first one are the property of Abigail Carroll and are used with permission.

March 19, 2018March 20, 2018

Why I’m Not Using “Resurrection Eggs” with My Littles

The “resurrection eggs” I ordered online arrived late last year, so I didn’t open each colored plastic egg before my two and four year olds did. Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, we opened them all at once. I grew increasingly uneasy as we continued. Opening the green egg, my daughter pulled out a whip.

“What’s this?” she asked. My son immediately tried to steal it from her and she clutched it to herself.

“It’s a whip. Bad men whipped Jesus with this. Let’s look at the story book,” I said, hoping for guidance. The picture demonstrated what a whip does.

The next egg, the yellow egg, was innocent enough—a rooster stood for Peter denying Jesus, but when it was my two year old’s turn again, I felt ill when she opened the orange egg and pulled out a tiny, doll-sized crown with spikes—the crown of thorns. With her big blue eyes and wispy blond hair, she looked to me again to explain this interesting object to her.

How could I begin to tell a two year old about the violence Jesus endured? And did I even want to? Was it necessary at such a young age to know?

At this stage in my children’s life, they didn’t even know to accuse someone of being “dumb” or “stupid.” They didn’t know the word “hate” until this past year, so shattering their innocence about humanity’s capabilities for evil felt like a conversation I wasn’t prepared to have.

“My turn, my turn!” my son said, reaching for the light green egg. Inside was a shiny metal nail. I flipped ahead to the last few pages just so I’d know if any other torture devices would appear that I’d have to explain to my tiny children.

The last objects were a spear, a tiny linen cloth, and a stone, but in the picture, the Caucasian angel is sitting on top of the stone and two Middle Eastern-looking soldiers lie dead in front of the tomb. I didn’t remember Jesus (or the angel) murdering the guards when he rose from the grave to save us all, but the story goes that they fell down in fear “as though dead.”

For the first time in my life, I grasped the violence of this story Christians tell over and over again as I saw it through the eyes of my children. In fact, since I’ve become a parent, I’ve cringed at the Bible stories we regularly teach our children. I’ve become aware of my own hypocrisy, because while I won’t even let them watch certain tame kid shows because there is a slight bit of ninja fighting, I teach them about murder on a weekly basis through all the classic Sunday school stories.

I thought through the litany of stories my children have already been exposed to: David and Goliath (a small boy kills a giant with a stone), Noah (everyone in the world who doesn’t listen to Noah and get in the ark drowns), Joshua (the Israelites circle the city, then shout and invade, presumably killing everyone), Daniel (he’s thrown into a den with blood-thirsty lions), Isaac (Abraham is about to sacrifice his own son when God saves him—try explaining THAT one to your four year old son).

When I picked up my daughter from Bible study the week before Easter, I cringed when I saw the “craft” they had made. On pre-made paper hands, my daughter had dipped her fingers in red paint and put her finger print on the palms of the paper hands. Her “craft” was to paint blood on the hands of Jesus where his hands were pierced with nails. I should have said something to her teacher, but I didn’t. She smiled and waved bye to us. “Have a great Easter!” she said happily.

Sometimes I wonder if children who grow up going to church are more desensitized to violence than other children because we expose them to it from such a young age. Talk of whips, nails through hands, thorns crushing someone’s forehead and blood spurting out become such common scenes that they don’t grasp the actual horror of murder and crucifixion.

So this Easter we’re not doing the resurrection eggs. Though the box says “3 and up,” they are not G rated or even PG rated, so we’ll wait until they are old enough to hold an object of torture in hands that are not so tiny. I want my kids to be horrified and sickened by evil, hatred, and violence, not immune to it like I have become.

I want my kids to be horrified and sickened by evil, hatred, and violence, not immune to it like I have become.

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For this Easter, I ordered a book without pictures, called Good Dirt: Lent, Holy Week & Easter Tide. Though it’s still geared towards slightly older kids and talks about the death of Jesus, it is more focused on the joy of resurrection than on the mutilation of Jesus at the cross.

Just a few weeks after 17 teenagers were murdered by a young boy with an assault rifle at a Florida high school, my three year old daughter will not be holding weapons in my home this Easter—even doll-sized ones. This year, we will simplify Easter to palm branches and Easter egg hunts, candy and celebrating new life, songs, dances and ringing bells as despair gives way to the empty tomb and hope.

When and how do you teach your children about the crucifixion in an age-appropriate way?

***

Thank you for meeting me here in this space. The theme for March is “Simplify,” so you can start here to read posts you may have missed. If you are a writer or just a person with words burning in your soul and are interested in guest posting, email me at scrapingraisins@ gmail (dot) com. I’m looking for personal stories on this theme in the 500-1000 word range. If you haven’t yet, be sure you sign up for my mid-month and monthly secret newsletter for the latest posts and even some news, discount codes and book giveaway information that only Scraping Raisins subscribers get!

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Why I'm Not Using Resurrection Eggs with My Littles: "Sometimes I wonder if children who grow up going to church are more desensitized to violence than other children because we expose them to it from such a young age."

March 5, 2017March 5, 2017

Day 5: Lent and Prophetic Lament {31 Days of #WOKE}

Lent and Lament

Lament: (verb) 1) to mourn or wail. 2) to express sorrow, mourning or regret. syn: deplore, bewail, bemoan

Lent: the 40 weekdays from Ash Wednesday to Easter observed by the Roman Catholic, Eastern, and some Protestant churches as a period of penitence and fasting.

–Merriam Webster

We prefer rejoicing to lament.

Singing with arms raised, spirits lifted and mouths full of praise, our chests heave with happiness after our time of praise and worship. Until “worship” is reframed as confession and lament.

Lament is a lost practice in the evangelical church.

I recently read Soong-Chan Rah’s book chronicling the book of Lamentations in the Bible, called Prophetic Lament: A Call for Justice in Troubled Times. It is an apt read during the season of Lent that is characterized by penitence and fasting.

Lent is intentionally sitting in the dark and doing battle with the demons we find there.

Much like I’m attempting in this series.

Here are a few thought-provoking quotes from the book:

“The depth of pain endemic to racial hostility requires full disclosure for complete healing.” (p. 58)

“Stories of suffering can never be buried when lament is an important and central aspect of the church’s worship life.” (p. 59)

“We do not hear from all of the voices in the North American evangelical context. Instead, we opt for quick and easy answers to complex issues. We want to move to the happier message of success and triumph and cover up the message of those who suffer.” (p. 68)

“There is an underlying belief that American Christians have been the standard-bearers of Christianity for several centuries. There is a sense of being the exceptional church, resulting in the missionary endeavor and vision…But this sense of American exceptionalism and even the sense of exceptionalism for the American church cannot be justified through Scripture.” (p. 94)

“The church has the power to bring healing in a racially fragmented society. That power is not found in an emphasis on strength but in suffering and weakness. The difficult topic of racial reconciliation requires the intersection of celebration and suffering.” (p. 106)

“Lament emerged as an uncomfortable but necessary response to the absence of shalom in the church.” (p. 138)

Have you ever prayed for God to reveal the sin in your life and then sat, waiting? It is terrifying. Because in my experience, God always answers.

I’m embracing this season of Lent as a way of forced exposure.

I’m asking God to illuminate my blind spots and weed out any latent and blatant racism in me.

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I’m asking God to illuminate my blind spots and weed out any latent and blatant racism in me. Will you join me in the journey?

Additional Resources:

Join the Facebook group “Prophetic Lament during Lent” that is slowly reading through this book. The author himself is leading the group, so it looks like a fabulous way to dig deeper into the content of this book.

Listen to this podcast on lament. At the end, many people of color share their personal laments.

SheLoves Magazine recently studied this book. You can read the intro here.

This chart lists out the psalms of lament (at the top).

Listen to Soong Chan Rah on these podcasts:

Seminary Dropout

The Global Church Project

Pass the Mic

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New to the Series? Start HERE (though you can jump in at any point!).

A 31 Day Series Exploring Whiteness and Racial Perspectives

During the month of March, 2017, I will be sharing a series called 31 Days of #Woke. I’ll be doing some personal excavating of views of race I’ve developed through being in schools that were under court order to be integrated, teaching in an all black school as well as in diverse classrooms in Chicago and my experiences of whiteness living in Uganda and China. I’ll also have some people of color share their views and experiences of race in the United States (I still have some open spots, so contact me if you are a person of color who wants to share). So check back and join in the conversation. You are welcome in this space.

Category: Lent